Gedicht
Meta Kušar
39.
A swallow rests on old slabs.The earth trembles.
She waits for it to marble into bread.
Where is the sphinx who knows, sees, is ?
I have to endure
this loss of euphoria!
An abandoned storehouse of cinnamon
remains sweet for two hundred years.
I lean my heated head against the elephant’s.
Where is Indra ? The Celestial King ? Jesus, in a labyrinth ?
Those who eat the sun have walked through it.
© Translation: 2004, Ana Jelnikar & Stephen Watts
39.
39.
Na starem marmorju počiva lastovka.Zemlja se trese.
Čaka, da se bo spremenil v kruh.
Kje je sfinga, ki razume, vidi, ve?
Moram zdržati
izgubljeno opojnost!
Zapuščeno skladišče cimeta diši še dvesto let.
Vročo glavo naslonim na slonovo glavo.
Kje je Indra? Nebeški Kralj? Jezus, si v labirintu?
Tisti, ki jejo sonce, so ga prehodili.
© 2004, Meta Kušar
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39.
Na starem marmorju počiva lastovka.Zemlja se trese.
Čaka, da se bo spremenil v kruh.
Kje je sfinga, ki razume, vidi, ve?
Moram zdržati
izgubljeno opojnost!
Zapuščeno skladišče cimeta diši še dvesto let.
Vročo glavo naslonim na slonovo glavo.
Kje je Indra? Nebeški Kralj? Jezus, si v labirintu?
Tisti, ki jejo sonce, so ga prehodili.
39.
A swallow rests on old slabs.The earth trembles.
She waits for it to marble into bread.
Where is the sphinx who knows, sees, is ?
I have to endure
this loss of euphoria!
An abandoned storehouse of cinnamon
remains sweet for two hundred years.
I lean my heated head against the elephant’s.
Where is Indra ? The Celestial King ? Jesus, in a labyrinth ?
Those who eat the sun have walked through it.
© 2004, Ana Jelnikar & Stephen Watts
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